Page 48 of Coiled Tight

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“So.” Damian grinned evilly—one hundred percent a thing—as he perched on the sofa the three of us were occupying. When he’d said he’d get food ready while we showered, I’d expected he was going to grill something easy. I should’ve expected a fancy hacker would survive off Chinese takeout. Not that I was complaining. Greasy noodles were the best invention there was, and he’d gotten three containers of the thing, which meant I didn’t have to feel bad about stealing one and keeping it close before anyone got any other ideas. “You’ve managed to get Saúl out of his rut. Respect.”

I blinked.

Rut?

What rut?

“For fuck’s sake, shut up.”

“Um.” I was obviously ignoring Saúl’s protests. Getting the story was more important. Everyone who saw the look in Damian’s face would know there was a story to unveil here, and I was all about getting the tea, even when he was still a stranger and I must’ve blushed fire red the second we showedup downstairs after a shower that didn’t get as derailed as it could have if Saúl hadn’t gone all herding mode. “What rut?”

Damian’s gaze shifted to Saúl, who gave him the finger.

Rude.

Worse, I knew that whatever silent communication they were engaging in meant I’d already lost dibs on it. D-types were really good at teaming up, and getting them to break files was almost impossible. I didn’t know one single sub who hadn’t tried at least once.

“Grown-up things. Don’t worry about it.” He flicked his wrist before leaning forward to grab the stem of his wine glass. I’d stuck to water and gotten a weird look, but what if I needed to take my meds later? And if we were going to play, alcohol was a bad idea. Other people could take a beer or two and still be fine for play that wasn’t too heavy, but I didn’t fall under that category. “So what are you planning to do in my dungeon?”

“Um.”

Did I choke on thin air?

Well, yeah. I was set on becoming a walking stereotype of the messy sub, obviously.

Ugh.

Saúl cleared his throat and got the attention back to him, thank fuck. “We didn’t get that far. Will you quit it now? Don’t know why I bother with you.”

“Aw.” Damian twirled the glass of wine between his fingers. “I’ll miss fucking you too, boo.”

If it were possible, Saúl’s frown deepened even more. “You really aren’t house-trained.”

I covered my mouth before I burst out laughing, and the attention went back to me. Damian didn’t hide how hilarious he found the concept.

“Thank fuck I’m not.”

I had to say, he was a bit… odd, and I was back at not quite knowing what to make of him, but I liked him. I was the kind of chaotic that liked people who would meet me where I was at—sue me.

Speaking of…

“So, you two…”

Damian was clearly in the mood to be more unhinged now, and just because they’d had their silent agreement to not speak of whatever it was before, the eccentric in Damian was not going to forego the opportunity to talk about his exploits. Was he?

As suspected, he turned toward me with the feral smile I’d come to expect, leaving the wine on the table to rest his chin on his hand. “Your Daddy is particular about the men he fucks, and how he does it.”

I gulped. He looked giddy to have shared the intel, but I needed more. What did that mean? Particular in that he was a Dom, or a Sadist? Or was it something more?

Did I fall under the category of men he fucked?

Not that?—

No, actually, yes, I one hundred percent wanted him to fuck me.